


Rennervate

by miscnine



Series: Nine's Drarry Contributions [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Flying, Hogwarts First Year, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:54:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26063047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miscnine/pseuds/miscnine
Summary: Harry gets a Nimbus 2000. Draco gets a hobby.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Nine's Drarry Contributions [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1842685
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	Rennervate

**Author's Note:**

> For N: Happy birthday.

It was Wednesday night, just an hour and half after dinner was announced. Ever since Harry had received his broom and his position in the quidditch team a couple days ago, he adopted a new habit. He would go to the quidditch pitch, usually at night, and practice with Fred and George. More often than not, though, the twins were more interested in wreaking havoc farther from the pitch. Luckily, his team captain was all for it, more than happy to accompany and teach Harry a little more than just a couple of things.

“You really are a natural, Harry.” Oliver said from where he was hovering beside Harry, smiling pleasantly. They’d been going over maneuvers that he figured would be best for Harry to master as a seeker. They have been for around an hour. Oliver had ruffled his hair whenever he was relatively faster on the uptake. Harry couldn’t explain why it felt that nice to be recognized. He didn’t understand why it drove a lump up his throat when he realized that Oliver was sporting a smile that spoke _fond_ when Harry huffed at a failed attempt and one that spoke _proud_ when Harry laughed in disbelief at his own growing abilities. 

And Oliver was right. For some reason, he _was_ good at this. He _was_ a natural. He got the basics of the game, though he didn’t quite understand, yet, whether Oliver was just a little more hyped up than everyone else or quidditch really was that important. For some reason, he wasn’t afraid of the heights he reached and played with. Rather, he wasn’t afraid of falling from those heights, not even a bit. How could he? Everything about quidditch--no--everything about _flying_ felt so right.

The first time he flew was born of a challenge; it was fleeting, muddled--ironically--by his hyper-awareness of the more experienced competition and the suddenly larger world open to him, and ended with people cheering him. 

This time, and every other since then, was softer. Perhaps, due to the ambience. The light they relied on were _lumos_ charms that were bigger than he’d seen yet. They seemed to follow him like a spotlight, and he always felt like putting on more of a show for it. They seemed to produce a vignette, highlighting the blond of Oliver’s hair and the shine of his new broom. The greenlands around the pitch softly reminded him of their presence through the occasional appearance of the magical equivalent of fireflies that he hadn’t learned the name of yet--or maybe they were just the regular fireflies. The wind was as biting as usual, too--in the cold that tried to enter his body and in the harshness of its whispers into his ears. It was drizzling, too, with the proof of it on his glasses. It always was when one is this high up.

Harry caught Oliver sweeping a gaze at the stands. Harry hadn’t seen a single game yet, but he knew it was something different, special, to Oliver. The Oliver several feet above the ground and wrenching disarray from the winds for himself with his broom and the Oliver Harry first met coming out of that class and grounded were very different.

Harry wanted to ask Oliver what he loved so much about all of this, but he knew the answer. He could feel the answer.

“Harry!” Oliver called out to Harry from several feet away, hovering on his broom. Harry snapped out of his stupor and cast a questioning glance at him.

“Percy’s down there! I reckon he’s got something important to tell me if he actually left the library, or our dorm, or wherever he was, just to find me,” Oliver pointed below at a silhouette, which was apparently Percy’s, apparently Oliver’s roommate.

Harry nodded, lifting the corners of his lips into a small smile. 

“I’ll be back. I trust you can keep yourself out of trouble.” Oliver winked. 

“Yeah,” Harry muttered, shaking his head and watching Oliver easily jump off his broom and carry it on his shoulders to talk and walk with Percy.

Harry made his broom fly a circle with a radius of a couple feet. He wanted to be comfortable enough to recklessly lie on his broom without the lurching pull of rationality in his chest. It would make for a great pseudo-hammock. Probably. The twins promised him they would teach him some things soon to make him feel better about flying. For now, he simply leant back and placed his hands behind rather than in front of him so that he could watch the sky and view with more lax, still flying in a slowly widening circle. 

Harry overheard Oliver’s laughter and hovered to watch Oliver and Percy smiling at each other in suspiciously soft manners. Harry was bewildered by that oddly fitting expression on Percy’s face, having only seen Percy a handful of times since Ron pointed him out and wearing a haughty expression each time.

He turned away when Oliver hopped back onto his broom and waved at Percy. It took a moment before Oliver flew beside Harry, still carrying the mirth in his eyes.

“How about this,” Oliver began, a glint in his eyes. “Let’s play a seeker’s game. We have-- _tempus--_ about over an hour. First one to the snitch wins. You win, and I’ll let you off one--” Oliver lifted a finger. “--morning practice. If I win, though? You let me fly on your broom for the rest of the time that we have here.”

Well, Harry would’ve gladly let him borrow the broom, but he liked the idea. Harry wondered though, “Is it a good idea to let the snitch out at this time?”

“If we don’t catch it, there’s a way to call it with the container so we can get it when we’re done chasing. But I don’t doubt we’ll catch it. Either way, I think you’re ready for team practice.” Oliver sent him an encouraging smile. Harry nodded, feeling assured.

“Ready?” Oliver held out a fist between them and opened it to let the snitch fly out. The two watched it revolve around them then buzz off before Oliver sent Harry a challenging look with a rather charming? head tilt and performed twirls and maneuvers as he gave chase. Harry shook his head, smiling, and began to look for the snitch too. He didn’t actually care about getting that Free Get Out Of Practice Card, knowing Oliver thought he was ready to play with the team anyway, but if he caught the snitch before the captain could, he’d prove he had potential for more than Oliver had probably thought.

“Head in the game, Potter!”

Harry heard Oliver, but Harry _couldn’t_ get his head in the game. Being up there, hearing Oliver’s focused and coordinated efforts slice into the air, and flying were making the isolated moment a metaphorical and literal breath of fresh air. It’s been _months_ since he left that closet where all the things the Dursley’s didn’t want stayed and collected dust, migraines, pains, and night terrors.

Harry shut his eyes, directing the broom to fly along the edges of the pitch. He performed a particularly difficult twirl in the air, enjoying the lurch it gave in his chest that came when he was hanging upside down for not over a second. 

The broom gave a shudder against a particularly cold draft that seemed to target him. Harry lifted a hand to adjust his robes to protect more of his neck from the chilly assault, when he was startled by a flash of gold from under the stands, which surely was just due to his current inability to gauge the distances, because the balls for quidditch couldn’t go beyond the pitch as they were bewitched to. He sped off in that direction only to catch what Oliver was up to out of the corner of his eye. Oliver dove to catch another flash of gold in a farther, better lit area. That either meant there were two snitches or Oliver had his eyes on the right one and he’d just noticed some shiny ornament.

Harry turned to dish a distraction for Oliver to lose sight of the snitch and prolong the game. Oliver shook his head, huffing and pointing at him. Harry had to check again to assure himself the action was in faux anger and that Oliver was proud of Harry’s quick uptake.

Harry shook off the rising feeling in his stomach and decided to seriously look for the snitch this time. He and Oliver spent a couple minutes flying around each other and noting the others’ techniques. Finally, in about the same spot Harry thought he’d seen the snitch at first (which he realized was actually around the Slytherin stands), he saw it again. He wasted no time rushing forward and allowing the wind to slide the hair off his face and challenge his glasses for its position as a screen for his eyes. He stretched out a ready hand, inviting the snitch to settle itself in his palm and settle the game’s winner already. For one moment, he thought he’d clasp a fist around it. He didn’t. However, it only took that second for Harry to notice he slipped past the actual snitch (toward some other golden artefact that wasn’t even in the pitch with an outstretched hand) and perform a loop to secure it that involved a tight grip, vertically flying along the Slytherin stands, and snatching it while upside-down.

Oliver cheered and whooped his recklessness, not too far behind Harry himself. Oliver hovered beside a panting and hyped Harry, grinning, “That was great.” 

“Thanks.” Harry wore a sort of manic smile. “Nearly ran into the stands, though. I may have overestimated the distance.”

Oliver shook his head. “That’s fine. You’re still getting familiar.”

They flew back to the ground.

Oliver held his hand out, saying, “Good game.”

Harry nodded and place the handle of his broom in Oliver’s hand. Oliver looked down at the Nimbus 2000 in mild shock. “I was going to lend it to you anyway. Today, actually.”

Oliver shook his head and smiled in disbelief and a hint of awe. Oliver dropped his older broom and reverently held the borrowed broom, caressing the polished handle with his fingertips a little.

Harry beamed at him. “It was fun.”

Oliver mounted, “Thanks, Harry! Stands should be open if you don’t want to lounge on the grass.”

Harry opted to hear rather than see Oliver’s delight at the broom, walking curiously to the Slytherin’s stands. He’d always been drawn to shiny opportunities.

The stands were tall. Harry knew it was even from a distance but, up close, it became obvious that it was twice the height of the Dursley’s house which was a standard in a rich subdivision. The areas were open and did not have doors, too, so Harry wondered what Oliver could have meant when he implied that the stands could be closed. Harry acknowledged that he did not know all there was to know about magic yet and accepted that he couldn’t ask right now, stepping onto the wood flooring.

This area of the stands was decorated in Slytherin colors. Banners were strewn everywhere. A wall to the left had framed moving pictures of what seemed to be Slytherin teams by the year and some plays they deemed legendary. On the right was the staircase that would lead to the second, third, and the seats levels.

Harry safely went up seven, gratefully-non-moving steps, before his vision was assaulted by a bright light. Not too far from him, Draco Malfoy was going down the stairs towards him, carrying a _lumos_ -lit wand.

“Malfoy?” Harry spluttered.

For a moment, Malfoy looked like he was caught in a crime scene. Widened, grey eyes bore into startled bright green.

Harry dropped his foot onto the next step, shaking his previously aborted movements off. “What are you doing here?

The moment of nervousness was gone and Malfoy was sneering. “I was merely on my way to Astronomy class, Potter.”

Harry frowned. Two hours early? “Classes are still at midnight, right?”

Malfoy shrugged and started to briskly walk away. “If I were you, Potter? I wouldn’t trust a thing I say.”

Harry rolled his eyes at the dramatic exit and wondered where Malfoy could have learned to be such a thespian.

Later that midnight, Harry spends Astronomy class stealing searching glances at Draco Malfoy who’s making friends with a dark-haired Slytherin girl from their year.

The next day, the Gryffindor duo was late to their first class for the second time that week. Harry and Ron sat together in Transfigurations class, bearing the berating tone of Professor McGonagall’s greeting and an hour of trying to make sense of what Harry still handles with _poised guesswork_. He hopes he’d get it soon.

Professor McGonagall dismissed the class after an hour of disappointment and a little progress. “Mr. Potter, may I speak with you before you head to your next class?”

Harry shared a look with Ron, who shrugged.

“Yes, professor?”

“The last essay you submitted lacked two and a half inches, Mr. Potter. I hope your quidditch practice isn’t infringing your time to do work.”

“No. Of course, professor. I’m sorry.”

Professor McGonagall nodded. “Be off now, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley.”

“Goodbye, professor.”

Ron shut the door behind them, adjusting his bag strap on his shoulder. “You can just write it bigger next time. That’d probably work.”

“Yeah.” Harry hummed.

Harry hadn’t even turned to the direction of the Charms classroom yet when he heard clicks of heavy footfalls. The Gryffindor duo hastily got out of the way before Crabbe and Goyle could pushed them. They watched as Goyle held the door open, allowing Malfoy to enter the Transfigurations classroom with only a glare at Harry.

“Crisis averted?” Ron sighed. “I thought he was going to hex us for a second there.”

Harry hummed.

“What’s up with you?” Ron lifted his eyebrows.

Harry began leading them to Charms. “Huh?”

“You’re beginning to look at Malfoy like he’s a difficult game of chess.”

“I’m not?”

“I hate him. I’d much rather ignore his existence.”

“Me too.”

“You were watching him all night yesterday, though.”

“Because he was...”

Harry didn’t bother to try and finish that sentence, opting to enter the Charms classroom and halting further attempts at picking up the topic.

It was lunch time.

Harry felt that he was slowly beginning to understand Hogwarts. He first studied in History of Magic how magic attracts personality and could count as a soul using a systematic theory. He then learned from Hogwarts, the building not the institution, what that implied. It had to be a lot of things for a lot of people: home, workplace, and school.

In a week, Ron and Harry have explored the library, Hagrid’s hut and the surrounding greens and hills, the corridors they were allowed, and the courtyards.

Harry knew his parents went there, and tried to imagine all the things they did. He knew his parents were fans of quidditch. He knew they were in Gryffindor. He knew they topped classes. However, he wondered what his parents thought of the grounds, where they usually hung about, what food they loved to see appear in the Great Hall table, what subjects they liked best, what they would have thought of his choices leading up to now, whether they were proud. His mind still reeled whenever he thought of his parents, now that he was allowed and encouraged.

Harry followed Ron to the courtyard nearest the entrance hall that they’ve been visiting to meet with and talk to a handful of students from Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. Harry left Ron to speak with them, deciding to walk up to the grand fountain. The only flowers in the entire courtyard were the stargazer lilies that sat beside the benches around the fountain. Harry only knew what the flowers were called because of Aunt Petunia’s garden and the fact that these flowers grew best in the weather there. Harry mulled over whether lilies would be his mother’s favorite flowers but he knew that he wouldn’t like for people to assume he favored his namesake if we were named after something tangible and common.

He walked off, intending to return to Ron’s side, passing the many trees.

He intended to peacefully pass by the Ravenclaw brandishing their prefect badge and talking up to at a tree, except he was called by a familiar voice.

“Potter!” Malfoy smirked, hopping off the tree and looking oddly elegant as he did so. “I found the perfect tree for that bird’s nest on your head!”

“Oh, you’re kidding,” The Ravenclaw prefect huffed. “You were waiting to jump off the tree for him? To say that? I don’t even care anymore, just don’t die falling off a tree during my shift.”

“Wow, Malfoy,” Harry pulled a twitching grin. “That was for me? Been watching me, have you?”

Malfoy scoffs and performs a clear attempt at mimicking the billowing robes routine that Snape could have patented if he ever needed potions funded.

Harry returned to Ron’s side, feeling relatively grounded enough to participate in conversation with the Patil sisters about their Indian backgrounds which Harry had been too detached to and afraid to learn about himself before.

Harry was cradling his plate during dinner. Out of habit, he couldn’t bring himself to let go of the plate, and his anxiety was only strengthened by the fact that magic could cause food to appear and disappear plates. He wondered if magic could play a hand in determining whether he was worthy of a meal and then food would just refuse to be placed on it. He had yet to build up on his appetite, so he was just waiting for dessert to replace the food laid out and tapping his fingers on the table.

Harry looked behind him and chanced a glanced at Malfoy from across the room, and caught the Slytherin watching him. Harry lifted an eyebrow when Malfoy scowled, turned red, and daintily lifted an elegant little hand to push a spoonful of mashed potatoes in his mouth. It reminded him of how hard Aunt Petunia always tried to look as poised and well-bred as Malfoy looked at the moment. Even if the Slytherin _was_ frowning.

“Watching Malfoy again?” Ron hummed around a leg of chicken.

“It’s not that,” Harry said.

“Not what?” Ron frowned in confusion.

“I just,” Harry continued, ignoring Ron’s interjection. “Don’t want a repeat of the Remembrall incident.”

“Just ignore him, mate. He’s just trying to get a reaction, that git.”

“I saw him last night, you know. In the quidditch pitch.”

Ron deposited the chicken bones on his plate and wiped his hands. “During your practice with Oliver? What was _Malfoy_ doing there?”

“I don’t know.” Harry shrugged. “He was in the stands.”

“Probably jealous or something. Maybe he’s plotting to steal your broom and break it when you’re least prepared.”

“I’ll just tell him off tomorrow.”

“The prat may like getting reactions, but you definitely love giving them.” Ron shook his head.

“We have double potions with the Slytherins tomorrow anyway.”

The dessert finally replaced the main course meals offered. Ron immediately reached for some cookies. Harry reached for the confetti cake, still clutching his plate.

The day began to go downhill the minute Harry’s subconscious made him dream of the cupboard and all the experiences he was still trying to desensitize himself from.

Harry was determined not to let it ruin him but he knew he had double potions with the Slytherins today and he couldn’t ask Snape or Malfoy to take it easy on him because of childhood trauma.

Harry entered the Potions classroom and pulled Ron to sit with him beside Malfoy.

Malfoy was only turning to curse him off the seat when Snape swept in without even shutting the door behind himself.

Harry wanted to shake his head at how the professor made everything a performance.

Snape insisted on reviewing the cure for boils that day before they could advance the class. Harry didn’t pay enough attention. It luckily didn’t explode on them but it was terrible enough that Snape simply didn’t want to accept it. Snape also took some points just because they were sitting too close to Malfoy and it “ _definitely_ was to cheat and copy from an actual _competent_ student’s work.”

Harry didn’t want to be embarrassed by the situation, but it was Malfoy--the one person he loved reacting to.

Harry liked that Hagrid’s hut was on the edge of the forest. Hogwarts would always be a marvel, but people always wanted something from him and they looked it, too.

The fresh air made him think reckless thoughts. Like, _he was free_. It was exhilarating and dangerous.

Out of sheer happiness, he would have bounded and skipped the rest of the way to Hagrid, who he was meeting for lunch after that disastrous Potions class.

He actually managed to bound up to the top of the hill when, out of nowhere, Malfoy’s voice called out to him from above.

“Potter!”

Harry looked up at one of the four trees that stood on the hill to find Malfoy at the lowest hanging branch.

_Are you kidding me_ , Harry thought, inwardly groaning.

Malfoy jumped off a tree, again. “You looked like you were ready to take off and fly to the nearest rainbow,” Malfoy smirked.

“Of course, you would know.” Harry smiled, a taunting hint woven in his lips. “You’ve seen me practice flying.”

“I haven’t. I was going to Astronomy.”

“To _the Astronomy Tower?_ So, you took a wrong turn and ended up outside instead of the tower?” Harry recited mockingly.

“You’re not that good.” Malfoy sniffed, looking away.

“Alright, Draco,” Harry began, narrowing his eyes. “Let’s play a seeker’s game, then. First one to the snitch wins. You win, and I’ll let you fly on my broom for one--” Harry confidently lifted a finger. “--hour. If I win, you tell me _why_ you’ve been watching me _and_ you stop jumping out of trees to bother me.” _Because, seriously, what is that?_ Harry thought.

“First of all, Potter, I don’t jump off trees to bother you; I jump off them when I choose to grace you with my presence because I know you can’t bear to add to the list of aspects in which you already look up to me. Secondly, I don’t need to win to ride on some broom; my father is already set to get me a newer, better broom.”

“So you’re not up for the challenge, Malfoy?” Harry liked that he could be cheeky without repercussions. Malfoy may not be prey, but he’s a way smaller predator.

“However, I _will_ play, _and_ win. Just to win.” Malfoy’s eyes glinted. _Smaller but just as vicious_ , Harry thought.

“Do you intend on making it a spectacle like you do with every aspect of your life?”

“No need,” Malfoy said, lifting his chin. “Just you and me. Unless you’re scared?”

“Actually, a quidditch team member or a prefect has to go, too, so that I’m allowed to use the pitch.”

Usually, quidditch team members could use the pitch and quidditch materials whenever they want, but they decided to enforce this because Harry was still a first year.

“Then I shall bring Crabbe and Goyle with me,” Malfoy easily replied.

“Fine,” Harry snapped.

“Fine,” Malfoy drawled.

“After lunch. You know where to find me, because you’re apparently my biggest fan.”

Before Malfoy could say anything, Harry was turning away and thanking the wind for helping him with a dramatic exit, which he had to keep up until he was in front of Hagrid’s hut because Malfoy could annoyingly still see him due to the prat being uphill.

“You look like an idiot, Potter!” Malfoy shouted after him.

Harry is jealous of Malfoy.

Harry won the seeker’s game. Obviously. Even when they used the school’s Cleansweep brooms to even the game. But…

Malfoy clearly had the experience. He would name maneuvers as he did them as if he was educating Harry. He was comfortable lending his safety to the winds and the broom, no matter how much he insulted it. He was carefree in the air and it made him glow in childish wonder; blond hair glinting, smirk exposing pearly whites, blue eyes (Harry checked when they shook hands, as encouraged by Fred and George) loosely grasping at childish excitement that threatened to set Malfoy astray.

Harry was jealous of all of it. Harry let the feeling burn in his chest then he snatched the snitch and compared its gold to the hair on Malfoy’s head.

Fred and George were flying above the stands, circling the heads of Crabbe and Goyle and most likely mocking them. And Malfoy was standing in front of him, silently panting at the exertion and refusing to give up the explanation Harry had won.

“I won.”

“Yes, Potter. I know.” Malfoy rolled his eyes, walking away.

“Where are you going? You owe me something.” Harry hopped onto his Nimbus 2000 and trailed after Malfoy, hovering in the air.

“I don’t think so.”

“Then lie,” Harry said easily. “But you have to give me something.”

Malfoy halted and faced Harry. Harry got off the broom and looked at him expectantly. Malfoy raised three fingers.

“I’m forming a plan to have you poisoned.” Malfoy dropped one finger. “I want to be your friend and chose a borderline stalkerish plan to get to know you.” Malfoy dropped another finger. “I’m spying on you to gather and then sell your information.” Malfoy dropped the other finger, leaving him with a clenched fist which he used to push Harry away from him. Malfoy started to walk off, whistling for Crabbe and Goyle. He offered a final glance at Harry. “Pick your truth.”

They spent dinner at the Great Hall watching each other.


End file.
